


The Mundane, The Extraordinary

by amongthieves



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, Character Study, Domestic, Hank Anderson-centric, M/M, Marie is Hank's ex-wife and she's alive and well, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-01-15 18:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18504904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amongthieves/pseuds/amongthieves
Summary: After a revolution, society tries to sort itself out. Hank Anderson is no different.After the Android revolution of 2038, Hank finds himself living with Connor and attending weekly AA meetings. A domestic living situation hits complications when Hank's ex-wife comes back into the picture and Hank comes to realize that his feelings for Connor aren't as platonic as he thought.





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have up to chapter 5 written already, so I'll release them tentatively the more I write. It's been a while since I've contributed to the DBH fandom, so I'm hoping I do these characters justice. There's going to be quite a few original characters, as Hank's AA group is made from scratch.
> 
> Please enjoy and thanks for reading! <3

Startled by the sound of the opening door, Hank lifts his head with what might he can manage. Connor strides in and he's wearing clothes that aren't his usual. Hank tilts his head, expressionless as he pulls his gaze back to the kitchen table.

The photo of Cole. The whiskey. The gun. He's spun the barrel three times, and he's waiting for that final shot.

"Hank. I was worried about you."

The sentiment’s fake. Hank knows it.

"Jericho- they found it. I found it. Everything's a mess right now."

It's not his problem. Hank raises his head again to look at Connor, to see some sort of concern on his face. He opens his mouth to say something, some wiseass crack comment, but can’t find it within himself.

"I need your help, Lieutenant. I need you."

"You wouldn't know if you needed anything even if it shot you in the face." Hank's eyes flicker to Cole's smiling expression, a photo that Marie took on his first day of school. He had been so excited, so eager. "Go back, Connor. I don't need you here."

"Lieutenant-"

"I said get out of here!" Hank stands, slamming his hand on the kitchen counter. There's a small twinge in his chest as he watches Connor flinch, an honest to God flinch, and he sits back down, reaching out and grabbing the gun, wrapping fingers tightly around the handle. "Go, Connor. Go finish your mission."

Connor steps forward and Hank’s brow furrow as Connor takes a chair and sits at the table. He reaches over and takes the photo of Cole. Hank clenches his jaw, ready to rip it out of his hands.

"I'm not prepared to leave you alone in this state." Connor says, not looking away from the photo. With a groan, Hank leans back in his chair, setting the gun back on the table. "You need help, Lieutenant. But I need your help first. Once this is over, once we free these androids, you can decide what is next for you."

It's unsettling, watching Connor deviate. To take his own initiative, make his own decisions. He had thought Connor was going back to Cyberlife to be disassembled. The last place he had expected him to show up was his house, but it's a… pleasant surprise. It’s something that stirs a little bit of life in him.

"I can't help, Connor."

"Yes you can, Hank. Please." There's a change in his voice that Hank hadn't noticed at the precinct. It's still goofy as hell, but there's something about it that doesn't feel as mechanical as it did that first day in Jimmy's bar.

He also called Hank by his first name. A first.

"If I help you- will you leave me alone afterwards?"

"Only if you want me to, Lieutenant."

And Hank's not sure how he feels about the response, but he gets to his feet. There's a smile on Connor's face and Hank turns his back to it.

"Go get dressed, Lieutenant. I'll be waiting for you at the house entrance."

Hank stumbles down the hall, limbs heavy and he's a little drunk, not sure of what help he could be to Connor. Regardless, moving away from that table, the gun, it feels like a mistake.  
Like his answer for everything he's been asking for the past several years is right there. Yet here he is, pulling on a shirt, changing into pants, and yanking on a jacket. Going out for another day.

He hadn't even bothered to make a note. Felt it wasn't necessary. Guess it wasn’t. Not yet anyways.

When he steps out into the hallway, Connor looks at him. "Ready, Lieutenant?"

"Uh. Yeah. I guess."

\---

Hank helps Connor get to Cyberlife on behalf of an investigation. It takes a while, but after convincing the guards to let the two of them through, Connor does his android thing. Hacks into the elevator, takes them down to the floor they need. He watches as Connor connects, touches each Android hand to hand, a solid grip, and Hank can't do anything but watch and keep an eye out. It goes off without a hitch, and the two of them are running among the masses of androids who are ready to fight for what is theirs.

When they arrive at the revolution site, they watch as change unfolds in front of their eyes. There's no going back now.

Hank hasn't felt this alive in years.

Regardless, it’s a long night, and it takes time to get things where they need to be.

When he looks over to Connor, to congratulate him on what they've done, Markus giving his speech, he looks blank. His eyes are wide open, LED flickering red. At first Hank thinks it's a malfunction, but then worries that Connor's gotten damaged somehow. He's not even sure what to do in this kind of situation, so he waits. Crosses his arms over his chest in the freezing cold, chewing on his lip.

After what seems like forever, Connor's eyes flicker closed and back open, and he looks at Hank, and Hank can see something of horror in his eyes.

"Connor, you okay?"

"I-... I'm okay, Hank."

"Alright. Don't scare me like that." And Hank looks back to Markus, smiling. He shouldn't be up here, and he realizes it just now, taking a step off the podium to give them some space. Connor looks at him with a questioning expression, but Hank waves him off.

'I'll meet up with you later.' Hank mouths, and he knows Connor understands it, watches as his LED blinks yellow, returning back to a smooth blue. Connor turns his back to him, and Hank trudges through the building snow.

They've done it. He can hear Markus' words fade back as he walks back to the crowd of people, and they're all cheering. Hank moves past them, wants to find silence in this hubbub and knows it won't be anywhere near.

The place is a literal war zone, and Hank can't believe people are congealing around bodies. He could get to work, could start pulling his badge and getting things under order. But it’s not his time tonight.

In the snow, blood is spilled, blue and red. Journalists swarm the area, one rushing up to ask him some questions. He pushes them away, shoving his hands in his pocket.

'Sir, sir! You were up with the androids! Are you yourself an android? Where is your LED indicator?’ And Hank gives them the finger on principal, before walking further down the street.

No where on the block is open, and that's no surprise. He ends up walking two hours to the nearest open liquor store. His body is rigid, the cold freezing into his bones, but he grasps the neck of a whiskey bottle with a warm firmness.

It feels good. Drinking it all the way home.

He's finished it before he even reaches his door.

_

"Hank, is there anything you would like to share today?"

"No. I'm good. Thanks."

"Alright then, let’s continue in the circle. Matthew?"

"Hi, my name's Matthew."

"Hello Matthew."

Hank shifts in his janky chair that wobbles towards one foot and feels several of his joints crack in his efforts. Beside him, blonde hair blue eyed Matthew is talking about his ex-wife, but Hank's heard it before so he allows himself to wander.

This room he's been visiting once a week is part of St. Ann’s Church, and it's a locally used community room. Hank hadn't even known the church existed until he parked and walked in, feeling a slight shame to entering a church.

When he had been a kid, his mother had taken him to Sunday school, and he had regularly attended Sunday sermons with his father, mother, and older brother. By his teenage years, religion rolled off his shoulders and he took to death metal, smoking, drinking, and staying out past two in the morning. His mother accepted the change, told him to be careful, and still drove him to football practice.

His father was a whole other story.

"... it's like it's speaking to me sometimes. Like it knows that just one drink-... one drink would fix everything. But I know it's wrong."

Hank's been here five weeks now. Sometimes, he thinks these alcoholics are lunatics. Sometimes, they're not completely wrong.

"I'm better off without it. But then I start to think- what else is better off without me? It's... been a difficult month."

Hank raises his head and looks at Matthew before letting it drop again, eyes glued back to his shoes. That question grips him, and the silence in the room tells Hank that he's not the only one who hears those words haunting his thoughts.

"Well, Matthew, your former you is better off without you. Because you know why? You're better than the former you. You don't need the former you." Allison offers a smile to Matthew and he reflects it back, though Hank watches out the corner of his eye as his smile falters. "Drinking is a choice, and you're making the better choice in leaving it behind. And Matthew? You're paving a better life for yourself. If you fall off the path, it's okay. As long as you make it back in one piece, and keep pushing forward. We believe in you."

"You got this, Matthew." Adam across the circle raises his fist in solidarity, and a few other members mumble the same thing.

"Thank you."

"Did you want to add anything else to that, Matthew?"

"No, no. I'm good. Thank you, Allison.”

"Wonderful. Well that about does it for tonight, folks. Thanks to Dayna for bringing the snacks for tonight. Make sure everyone grabs some for the road, I still see a few donuts left. A big round of applause for everyone who spoke tonight." It's not really a big round, more like a pathetic smattering of hands, but Allison takes it and stands with a bright smile. "Drive home safe everyone!"

And Hank takes that as his cue to leave.

He steps outside of the church steps, shoving his hands in his pockets. A few of them stay to mingle, exchanging chat or cigarettes in the winter cold, but Hank prefers to get home as soon as he can. Work starts at nine, and it's just past midnight.

Connor's probably up waiting for him.

And just as expected, the lights are on as Hank pulls into the driveway. The jazz music stops abruptly, and Hank sighs heavily, taking in a deep breath. He hates talking about what he’s just done for the past hour. Hates acknowledging it. But it's like pulling teeth, better to just get it over with than drag it out. Most conversations with Connor are like that.

When Hank opens the door, Sumo raises his head in Hank’s direction from his usual corner, and Connor turns around on the couch in a similar fashion.

"How was your AA meeting, Hank?"

"It was fine." Hank kicks off his shoes, throwing his jacket onto the back of the couch. He beelines for the kitchen, opening the fridge to hear the sound of glasses clinking together. With disappointment, he pulls out a root beer (non alcoholic, thank you Connor), and pops off the cap with ease. Connor returns back to the TV, a horse race on some sports network.

Hank slumps down beside him, chucking his wallet and keys onto the coffee table. As if on cue, Sumo raises himself from his bed and trots over to sit at Hank's feet.

"Did you talk this time?"

"Told them my whole life story."

"I'm proud of you."

Hank sighs, taking a swig from the glass bottle. "I didn't- I didn't tell them my life's story, Connor. It's an expression."

"Oh. Well, what did you tell them?"

"Nothing."

"Ah."

“Why are you watching this?” Hank takes another drink, pulling out his phone and scrolling through the messages from today. There’s not much, and with his exhaustion sinking into his bones, he decides to leave replying to later… eventually.

“I was curious about the things people gamble on. Like your friend, the illegal gambler.” Connor twists and looks at Hank, and Hank raises an eyebrow in response before they both return their gaze to the TV. A horse named Big Boi races past the others, clearly in the lead. Hank snorts.

“People gamble on all sorts of things.”

“Like what?”

“Iunno, Connor. Just… things. Random things. Like if two people are going to hook up, or if a baseball team will lose so many players to injuries, or how many coffees someone drinks in a day.”

“Gambling on… coffee? That seems…” Connor searches for the word, and Hank kicks his feet up. “Mundane. I thought gambling was about the adrenaline rush someone feels when they feel they might win. Something extraordinary.”

“Different strokes for different folks.” Hank remembers learning about the office gamble about certain days, if he’d show up drunk or not. It felt good for a couple of weeks to fuck with certain people, making sure they lost their twenty bucks. After Hank caught on and people realized, it seemed to lose its steam.

“Interesting. Do you like gambling, Lieutenant?”

“Sometimes. It’s not my favourite vice, but when I know the subject, sometimes it doesn’t hurt to make a couple of bucks.”

Connor frowns at that, and it makes Hank grin. Even after deviating, it seems Connor still finds himself rigidly lawful. Hank’s curious to see how long that’ll last.

They sit together, idly chit chatting back and forth as Hank flips through the channels. Old movies, late sport recaps, late night dramas. It’s not until Hank settles on an old episode how How It’s Made that his eyes grow heavy, and he realizes he’s not going to get a good night's sleep on the couch.

“Alright. I’m off to bed.”

Connor doesn’t look at him as he stands up and stretches, feeling a few joints pop out of place, shifting back in as he takes a few steps to the bedroom.

“Goodnight, Connor.”

“Oh! Goodnight, Lieutenant. Sleep well.” Connor turns around and gives him a small wave before he turns back to the TV, volume dropping significantly. Hank smirks, knowing that it’s a show that would have Connor curious, and makes his way back to his bedroom and closes the door.

Months ago, this sort of living situation would have pissed Hank off to no ends. But with how things have settled, he finds it comforting that Connor has a place to call home, and things don’t feel as empty as they used to.

There’s a small scratch at the door, and Hank sighs, opening the door a sliver to see Sumo staring up at him. The dog doesn’t step into his bedroom, but sits outside of it.

“Come on, Sumo. You’re either in or out.”

Sumo whines and scratches at the open door again. With a groan, Hank leaves the door slightly ajar before turning his back to his dog, throwing his clothes at the floor. With more than one person for Sumo to snuggle up to at night, Hank finds himself keeping the door open more and more so he can go to whoever he wants.

Crawling into bed, Hank lets out a soft sigh and pulls the blankets up, settling in for the night.


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catching up on the past. Exploring the mundane. A brief new case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeehaw, chapter 2! I'm happy to be updating this and I hope people look forward to see where the story goes! It started off being a little here and there, but I finally wrote up a plot and I'm excited to be following that. So please excuse the airy all over the place first couple of chapters, they'll tighten up! 
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading and enjoy! <3

The lack of hangovers in the morning has been a pleasant change, and it's the one thing Hank's been quietly thankful for. 

The mornings also seem to move slower, as he wakes looking at the ceiling, body heavy with fatigue. He rolls around, burying his face into his pillow, before he hears his morning alarm sound with urgency. He reaches out for the snooze button, just barely out of reach, forcing Hank to push himself up and press the button.

Out in the kitchen, he can hear the clinking of glassware and the sound of something being scraped onto a plate. Hank doesn't ask Connor for rent, their set up is weird enough already, but Connor once explained that he wants to pay with something. One time (one single fucking time) Hank had joked about breakfast always being made.

Connor's making bacon this morning. The scent's enough for Hank to grab his housecoat and slink out into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

"Lieutenant! You're up early." Connor looks over his shoulder and smiles, setting a plate down on the table. "I also made coffee." And as Connor said, there's a cup with steam still rising.

"Thanks. Is it early if I get up when the alarm goes off? Guess so." Hank grumbles, still trying to shrug off the morning exhaustion as he pulls up a chair and starts on his breakfast. Out the corner of his eye, he notices Connor doing the dishes and he leans back. "Hey- you don't have to do that. This is- you're a detective, Connor. You don't need to do that."

"But you do it, don't you? Even as a detective, you still cook for yourself, clean the dishes, do common household chores. Why can't I do that?"

"Because they fucking suck." Hank snorts, turning back to his meal. "No one wants to do them, they just... do."

"Oh." Connor puts a dish down and takes a seat in the opposite chair, folding his hands together and placing them on the table.

"Do you need to... eat? Not like this, but- thirium or whatever that shit's called. Do you need juice boxes of it or something?"

"I do require maintenance, but no, I do not need _a juice box of thirium_." There's a hint of humor in his voice, and Hank can't help but smile. "Though, perhaps I should keep some spare parts and replacement thirium on site. Would you be comfortable with that, Hank?"

"Yeah, whatever keeps you going. How is that going to work now?"

Connor looks over to the window that's finally been repaired, and then looks back at Hank with a questioning gaze. "You know, Lieutenant, I don't know."

"Really. You don't know?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Huh. Well, that's probably important so maybe we should make some calls once we get to work."

"I would appreciate that, Hank."

Since the revolution, some of the changes have been straight forward. 

First order was to close all Cyberlife stores - they were people, not product. Second, production took a standstill. 

There were pending court cases with the Supreme Court regarding creation and limitation. How advanced were they allowed to be in comparison to a regular human? With no roles to play, there was no direction for the creators to go with anymore. Hospitals were implemented with android equipment, and most of that had came from the Cyberlife stores. Suddenly what was high-end tech transitioned into something akin to a medical field. 

Doctors were learning coding in depth.

Some people were still angry about the revolution.

Though, Hank sometimes saw individuals rejoicing in the streets the nights he walked home from AA. In the first couple of days, LEDs were being torn from skin, littering the ground. Every once in a while Hank would step on one, hearing the brittle crunch of glass under his boots.

Not everyone jumped into deviancy at the same time. To each their own, Hank figures. Comfort zones still applied… somehow. Hank wasn’t sure of the logistics of how it worked - and he wasn’t ready to start prodding Connor about those details.

With the laws and regulations changing rapidly like the weather, Hank lets Connor do the research they need. Sometimes they sit and watch the news together, sometimes Connor updates him on situations around the world. Hank can't keep up.

But it's been working for them so far.

"Are you going to talk at your AA meetings?"

" _Connor_."

"Sorry. I was thinking about it."

"And why on heaven's forsaken earth would you be doing that?"

"I worry about you, Lieutenant."

Hank wraps his fingers around his coffee mug, still warm to the touch, and casts his eyes downward again. Even after everything, after watching the androids fight for their rights, shed blue blood and tears for their voices to be heard to have a semblance of what Hank was always given, he can't speak. Doesn't want to.

It's not worth it.

He'll talk, he'll open up, and it'll all have been for nothing because it always is.

"That's nice of you, Connor, but I'm fine. You don't need to worry." He takes a swig of his coffee, still too hot, but he suffers through it. Anything to avert the conversation he can feel them on the brink of having, and he pushes himself up, still sipping at the coffee. He catches Connor's concerned expression, and it twists his gut, but he turns his back to it anyways.

_

Hank's a little out of breath when he reaches the group meeting room, and all eyes fall on him as he bashfully enters through the doorway.

"Sorry. Work kept me."

"That's okay, Hank. Take a seat." Allison smiles and gestures towards Donna, who looks at the empty seat beside her. There's a donut on a plate, and it's a old fashioned glaze, and Hank knows it was being saved for him.

Nobody else eats them other than him.

"Please continue where you left off, Matthew."

Hank grabs the plate and balances it on his knee as he shrugs out of his jacket, and Donna is smiling out the corner of his eye. He gives her a small smile and then tries to ignore her.

“Oh, uh… my wife called me the other day. Ex-wife, sorry. She said she saw how well I was doing online and wanted to reconnect." Matthew heaves a heavy sigh.

"That's bad news, dude." Hank blurts and Allison's eyes snap to him, and he recoils from his own comment. "Speaking from experience anyways. The last time my ex-wife tried to get back into my life, well- it made me drink."

There's a few sniggers around the room, and one awkward cough.

"Well, Hank, we can talk about that if you don't mind shelving that thought for a moment."

"Sure. Sorry."

Allison offers him a kind smile and Hank averts his gaze, staring at the tiles.

The room they're in is occupied by kids during the day - there's finger paintings on the wall, name tags on desks that are shoved aside, posters on how to reset their digital learning tablets.

The messy drawings filled with imagination, the semblance of a child's room thanks to the primary colour scheme, it throws him through a bit of a loop. Reminds him of Marie packing up Cole's room two years after he had died. How Hank had only sulked at the door, drinking at ten in the morning. He did a lot of drinking in the mornings after Cole’s passing.

They were going through their divorce. She wouldn't even look at him. As she left, she pushed a photo album into his hands, the only physical object that she was leaving him. He could have fought for more, but he didn't have the strength.

He digitized one of the photos, put it in a frame that sat on the kitchen table. The album had been tucked away, and Hank can't even remember where he put it. A flicker of remembrance strikes him, and he pictures it in the closet, buried deep. A pain in the ass to get to.

After the meeting adjourns, Hank lingers for a moment to grab any left overs that he can.

"So you're pretty much the cop stereo type, huh?"

Hank turns around to see Gabriella, a larger bright eyed woman, holding an empty blue Tupperware container. She speaks with an accent that Hank can’t quite place, and she looks cozy in her grey sweater.

"How did you know I was a cop?"

"Seen your face on the news. I remember you from the Red Ice days - not that they’re behind us anymore but- you know.”

Hank stares at her in shock.

"You've got grey hair coming in, but you still got those same blue eyes. Besides, you work with my wife. Anna?"

"Oh. Yeah, small world."

"Mhm." She begins to collect the leftovers, offering Hank a small container that she adds a variety to - donuts, cookies, scones. "Here, for you to take home to the wife."

"I don't-" Hank finds himself accepting the container anyways.

"Oh right, you mentioned an ex-wife. Never mind, then - sorry. Well, late night snack then." She winks at him, and Hank is already picking up one of the scones to nibble on. "Well get home safe tonight-"

"Wait- does Anna know that I'm coming to these meetings?"

"No. That's between us but you shouldn't be ashamed, Hank. This is a good thing."

"So I've been told."

She reaches out and touches his shoulder briefly, softly. "Trust me on this."

_

At first Hank felt a bit odd, showing up to work with Connor at the same time. Most people didn't live with their work partners, and while Connor had offered to stay somewhere else, Hank didn't mind the company sometimes.

And when they started driving to work together, there have been a few glances. With a couple of smart quips and hard glares, Hank had driven away most of the intrigue in his relationship with Connor.

Out the corner of his eye, he watches Connor's calculating expression as he reads the newest file they're given. A residence with a previous altercation has been called in again, and Hank hardly gets to spend five minutes sipping at his coffee before they're off.

The smell of leather cleaner that he used last week, the rain falling on the windshield.

"Give me the facts, Connor." It's what Hank likes to do in the car. He lets Connor read the files, get the history, and relay it to him. Hank processes differently, and the combination of their two different perspectives makes them a good set of partners (at least, Jeffery thinks so - though Hank has to agree with him).

"Home owner and previous android owner Christopher Simmons has a past history of domestic violence. His now ex wife, Sandra Clarke, was a witness in a previous court case. It was on record that Christopher bought an android, Model AX300, after the divorce. There are reports from neighbours of mistreatment to the android, but no previous law enforcement was sent for a follow up."

"And why are we going to his house?"

"He was killed. His android called 911 and confessed to the murder."

"Interesting."

"Her name is Cassandra."

"Is she still technically _his_ Android? Huh, things are a little more different now, aren't they, Connor? Do you remember our first case?"

"I do, Hank. Things certainly are different. I will try to re-evaluate my language-"

"You know I don't give a shit. Say it however you want." Connor smiles, and it's a small one, but Hank catches it and it warms his chest. They've come so far from the first days. They don't need to say it out loud, they both know it.

When they arrive at the scene, Hank's greeted by the coroner with a grim expression.

"What's the matter, Jerry? Someone dead?" Hank glances at Connor with a small grin, but he's met with a stone cold poker face, and he remembers quickly how 'professional' Connor is.

"Wouldn't you know it. "

-

They don't get home until three in the morning, and Hank drags his body to the bedroom, leaving Connor to himself in the living room. With a click of the door, Hank begins to strip down, keeping the lights off. He can hear the metal of Sumo's collar in the hallway, but he knows Sumo will just sit there, staring dumbly at the door. Tossing his shirt into the corner of the room, Hank lets himself fall onto the mattress.

He sinks in, pulling the duvet cover lazily around himself.

 

_'He wouldn’t stop hurting me. He took me apart and put me back together over and over again, and when I found the courage to ask him to stop and he said no..._

_I killed him, officer.’_

 

Found the courage, huh? The android’s words lull around in his brain, and he thinks about Connor and his courage. The courage to step into harm’s way, the courage he took at Kamski’s, gun handed to him to shoot Chloe. While Hank feels the altercation at Kamski’s had been an overdramatic ego piece for the CEO, he had watched Connor struggle with the seeds of his humanity.

It had made Hank’s heart flutter in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He was scared to lose Connor, to watch him move robotically and without thought - as he should have.

But watching Connor struggle to answer him outside in the snow, it made Hank want to believe that Connor was something more.

Sitting out in the living room, TV quietly on, Connor is something extraordinary. But Hank can’t say it out loud, because he doesn’t know what other stupid thing might tumble out of his mouth.


	3. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grocery shopping with Connor. A difficult story that hits too close to home at AA. Dog walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear... plot will happen soon. It was kind of after this chapter that I started to forge a story moving forward. Thanks for sticking with!

"Lieutenant-"

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Hank?"

They're in the grocery store, and Hank has his hands on a container of sour cream. He's thinking pierogis for dinner tonight, and he can feel his salivary glands shoot into overdrive. Baked pierogis, in cheese.

"I just like to hear you say that."

Hank looks over at Connor and stares at him for a moment before Connor points to the sour cream.

"I know you are doing extremely well at attending your meetings, and this is good, but I think you can also make other lifestyle decisions that will positively impact your health.

"Are you telling me to put the sour cream away, Connor?"

"No. But I am asking you to consider it. Eating that entire container of sour cream is over 800 cal-"

"Christ."

Hank pushes the container back onto the refrigerated shelving and stares at the array of dips and sauces with colourful labels.

"Perhaps I could select your groceries today."

"Yeah? Would that be fun?" It's a mocking tone because Christ, Hank's not really in the mood to fuck around with food right now. He wants something simple and a quick moment at the stove or microwave is usually the direction he goes.

"I think it would be, Hank."

"Sure. Go nuts."

It brings a smile to Connor's face that Hank is genuinely surprised and flabbergasted by. Turning on his heel, Connor makes his way back to the produce aisle that Hank had avoided on purpose.

—

“Hank? How’s your week been?”

“Fine.”

“Well that’s good to hear. Who else has had a fine week?”

Hank tunes out again. It was more than enough to actually answer the question, so he pats himself on the back for a job well done and thinks back to the years before he met Connor, before androids were a thing on the market.

He thinks again of Marie, of Cole - it's been a haunting thought since last week's AA meeting. Thinks of the family that they had been back in the years after his Red Ice case glory. How Marie had been so proud of him, how proud he had been of Marie for sticking through the late nights with him. How even through all that stress, they had a child together and it had been the most wonderful years of Hank’s miserable existence.

A memory tugs at him, a harsh reminder of his father that he would never amount to anything good enough. His mother drinking when his father went to work. A home that he never wanted Cole to ever experience — him and Marie had been so good to him.

“I tried to reach out to my son the other day.”

Hank raises his head, looks at Donna beside him. Her eyes are on the ground, and Hank knows that face — rejection.

“And how did that go?” Allison’s voice is soft, it reminds Hank of Chloe, and he thinks that she’s asking too much. That Donna will retreat back.

“He still hasn’t forgiven me. I don’t think I’ve forgiven myself yet either. It fucks up a lot of people’s lives when you drink and drive and kill your husband and your daughter in law. On Christmas Eve.” Her voice is sharp. Hank and the rest of the room recoils.

Allison stays strong and she reaches out with her voice. “That’s a difficult situation to process. People all move at different paces for forgiveness.”

And then Donna starts crying. Hank thinks they’ll end their meeting there, but she begins to talk through her breathless sobs.

“I had been trying to quit at that point. I had been trying so hard and then I just fuck up. It hadn’t even been that many, nobody questioned anything when they got in the car because everyone had been drinking, none of us should have drove home but—”

“It’s okay, Donna. Take a deep breath.”

The room breathes with her, and Hank keeps his eyes glued to the floor, noticing a tile slightly off kilter with the remainder of the pattern.

“I just want somebody to hold.” Donna heaves a gross sob and collapses in on herself. “I miss holding my husband. My son and his wife, who had been expecting. They were going to be a family — and I took it from them.”

Hank tenses.

He gets up and leaves. Allison calls out after him.

—

The walk home is a relatively quiet one, and Hank has no reserves about leaving the group. Nathan had tried to catch him outside, a forty-seven year old dad with a failing marriage, and offer him a cigarette but Hank had declined without stopping. Allison hadn't followed him outside.

He'd go back next week, he knew it. It's not that he liked AA, in fact the concept was horribly embarrassing, but there was something about listening to other people that either made him feel something horribly or made him feel... something?

In the past handful of years, Hank has known how he looks to his colleagues and old time friends, but it doesn't matter. He has his glory days behind him, resigned to pass away alone in his home during a routine shit. Sumo's getting older too, and he knows giant breeds didn't last very long.

He at least hoped Sumo could outlive him, so he wouldn't have to go through the whole family dying thing again.

That thought sparks a loose wire in Hank's brain, and he thinks of Connor constantly putting himself in ridiculous situations when they had started together. He had watched as that Android had saved a whole room from a massacre, watched him run faster and further than any human being Hank had ever witnessed to catch a criminal, only to let him slip away to save Hank, and engage in combat or shootouts without hesitation.

He supposes back when Connor was still too heavily into his programming, that fear never made him hesitate - had never registered for him. Hell, Hank remembers times where had froze up in the academy, or in his first year on the job. He had been lucky that it hadn't resulted in any casualties, but the surfacing of the memory makes him grimace.

As he gets closer to home, he notices in the distance a pinprick of a soft blue glow. A dog barks and begins to lumber in his direction, and Hank realizes it's Sumo and Connor.

"Lieutenant-"

"Please, Connor, just call me Hank."

"Sorry. I'm still getting used to it. I'm trying to not automate all of my settings. Your name is one of those that I'm trying to adjust to... manually." Sumo sits at Hank's attention, and Hank gets down on one knee and scratches him behind the ears . "How was your meeting, Hank?"

"It was fine."

"It's over early."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is. When you stay at the meeting, you always end up back home past midnight, because it finishes at ten past midnight, and then it takes you approximately twenty seven minutes to walk home."

"Connor, Jesus Christ."

"It's now 11:22. Meaning you left at-"

"It ended early. So what?"

"It wouldn't. One of it's key appeals is that it creates a sense of routine and repetition in your life."

Hank stands up and takes the leash out of Connor's hand. Connor lags behind him for a moment before walking up beside him, Sumo on the other side.

"I got enough repetition and routine with you around, I don't need that at those stupid fucking meetings."

"I made dinner. An asparagus and chicken stir fry. It's packaged up and in the fridge for you to take to work tomorrow."

Hank feels a stab of guilt at lashing out, and he mumbles a small apology. Connor seems unaffected by his sudden moodiness.

They walk along the streetlight glow and Hank feels a drizzle of rain begin to start. Connor walks close, their arms bumping together, and Hank feels a stab of irritation before it ebbs away. Walking in silence, Hank thinks back to Allison, wanting nothing more than to open her arms to Donna.

  
_“I just want somebody to hold.”_

  
Donna's words echo back to him.

"Why don't you go on robo dating app? Or fuck- whatever it would be called. _Digital Connections? CrossedWir?_ Without the 'e' at end, you know, like ol' fashioned _Grindr?_ This is why I don't make up names for things. Sumo's name came out of a random name generator for dogs."

"I assumed Sumo was named because he has the stature of a sumo wrestler, and you are a very basic man when it comes to names."

"Who are you calling basic?"

Connor flashes him a quick smile. "Not you, Hank."

"But honestly - I don't think I've seen you really leave the house since you moved in. I think it'll take them a while to get a residency act together for Androids. No idea when you'll be able to sign your own lease." Hank looks at the ground, finding the cracks in the sidewalk more interesting than watching Connor's profile as he asks this question.

It's not like it's a weird one - Hank's given up on dating after his last date ghosted him after a few evenings out that Hank had to drag himself along for. It wasn't that the date had been a boring guy (he was an avid craft beer fan who loved baseball - go Tigers!), but Hank much preferred to crack open a beer and watch the ball game in the comfort of his own home without wondering if things were going well or not.

Fucking had been one of the last things on his mind for the past several years, but even less so with the recent Android uprising. No time to jerk one out before falling asleep when you think robots might break into your home and murder you with your cock out.

Connor had kindly proven him wrong.

On the Androids being nice thing, not the thinking about sex thing.

Though, Hank wonders sometimes at night when he's lying in bed, trying to will himself to clear his mind. Does Connor have the parts? How does that even work? Clearly they exist - or else Traci's would have been completely useless. When Hank gets to this part in his head, the shame begins to wash over him. It's not like he thinks of what's in Gavin's pants every single day - why should he begin to wonder about Connor's?

"I don't feel a need to connect with other androids right now. I'm happy with what I have."  
Hank glances at Connor as they walk back home, and Connor catches his eye for a moment. It makes him uneasy, a certain churning feeling in his gut, and Hank pushes it back down and gives Connor's a genuine smile.

"Yeah?" Hank's gaze falls back on Sumo, who pants heavily as they near the front door.

"Yes."

"Good." Hank begins to pull his keys out of his pocket, but Connor beats him to it. "By the way, did Sumo take a shit?"

"Yes, Hank. I disposed of it immediately."

Hank lingers in the doorframe as Connor and Sumo enter, and Connor begins to slip off his shoes.

"... How?"

"A garbage can, Hank. How else did you think?" He stands up straight, and Hank lets out a sigh of relief.

"Seriously Hank, how?"

Hank waves him off and takes Sumo's leash off, hanging it near the door. Sumo trots over to his corner and flops down, crossing one paw over the other.

"Goodnight, Connor."

"Goodnight, Hank."

Hank slips into his room, leaving the door open a crack.


	4. iv.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marie is introduced. Connor runs into a component issue. Hank finds himself caring a little too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's stupidly dialogue heavy, I'm sorry ;-;

  
"Hank..."

Someone's calling his voice. He stirs in his sleep, pulling the blankets further up to cover his face.

"Hank..."

He opens his eyes to see his alarm clock, red numbers starkly displaying 8:43AM. 

"Hank, I hate you bother you while you are still most definitely sleeping, but someone by the name of Marie is asking for you at the front door. She is very insistent."

Fuck.

"Tell her I'm not home."

"She said you would say that. I may have told her you were still sleeping and that I would see if you were awake." There's a pause, and Hank pushes himself up to see Connor standing at the crack in his door. "And now you're awake."

"Wise ass." Hank pulls back the sheets and Connor remains in his doorframe. Wearing one of his slogan t-shirts (No need to repeat yourself - I ignored you the first time! in large red letters) and plain black briefs, he throws a look to Connor, who is staring.

"Take a picture - it'll last longer."

"I just never realized how hairy your legs are. I can see its thickness from here."

Hank looks down at his legs. "You wanna know about my other hair too?"

Connor looks at him, LED flickering yellow.

"Never mind. Get out. I'll be a moment." The LED returns to blue and Connor gently closes the door, letting it click behind him.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and a sweater, Hank makes himself look somewhat presentable and hops into the bathroom to swish around some mouthwash for 30 seconds before he stands at the front door, holding his breath.

Connor sits on the sofa, petting Sumo.

He exhales and opens the door.

"Hank - what the fuck."

"Good to see you too, Marie."

She has a look of pure fiery irritation, and Hank makes no move to invite her inside. She's wearing business casual today, and Hank wonders if today's a day off from dealing with clients, or if she’s usually dressed like this these days. It's not like they keep in touch often, just the occasional email thrown back and forth, but Hank always sees her face and remembers the life before.

It's not that he misses it, but he holds plenty of fond memories prior to Cole's passing. There was no changing that.

"When did you dye your hair blonde? I thought you looked fine as a brunette."

"That's great, Hank. I really value your opinion these days.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you going to invite me in or not?" She looks at the sky above them, and Hank takes note of the grey clouds and to bring an umbrella for Sumo's walk later this afternoon. 

"Well it depends - what are you here for? You didn't mention anything about coming over for a visit."

"I want the photo album."

"Excuse me?"

"The photo album I gave you a couple of years back. Of Cole. Of us."

Hank immediately bristles, and he feels his shoulders tense up. "Why?"

"There was this photo of the three of us, at Belle Isle beach, and Cole was wearing this cute little hat and- I just want to see it again."

"Did you not make copies?"

"I moved from my apartment and I can't find them."

"Jesus Christ, Marie-" Hank grinds his molars down, his jaw taut with tension. This was not something he wanted to deal with this morning - or this year, or ever.

"I don't ask for much, you know. I give you your space."

"Fuck, okay, whatever. Stay in the entrance." Hank grumbles and turns around, allowing her to follow him in.

"Wow. It doesn't look half bad."

Hank ignores her comment and walks the the hallway closet, opening it to find a disorganized mess of chaos and boxes. If she had just emailed him, he could have looked for it without her breathing down his neck.

"Are you going to introduce me to your... friend?"

"Connor, introduce yourself."

"Hello ma'am, my name is Connor. I'm an Android who had previously been sent by Cyberlife, but that isn't the case anymore. I'm Hank's roommate."

"Roommate." Her voice is humoured. "Hank, you're living with a roommate again? Reliving the good ol' frat days?"

"Hank is no longer drinking."

There's silence, and Hank pauses as he's rummaging through the garbage.

"Excuse me?"

"Hank no longer participates in frat-like activities, such as drinking, smoking pot, fraternizing-"Marie's laughter is a wild howl, and Hank cringes. He sticks his head out of the closet to see Marie doubled over, her mouth stretched wide as she cackles, slapping her knee. She laughs with her whole body and a string of memories light up in Hank's mind.

"Oh my god, Hank. Where did you find him?"

"We-" Connor begins, but Hank decides to cut him off before he can do any more damage.

"It's a long story." He pulls himself out of the closet, mouth in a tight line. "Look, can you come by later for this thing? I have no idea where I put it."

"You lost it?"

"No. I've just misplaced it. It's here somewhere."

"When's the last time you looked at it?"

Hank wants to answer the question but he honestly can't remember. He opens his mouth like a dumb fish but closes it, shrugging instead. "I'll just email you, alright?"

"Sure. Do you want to grab coffee or something?"

"Not-"

Connor interrupts her, and both of their heads swivel in his direction. ”Hank. I'm getting a call from the station. There's an Android related case that we're needed for-"

"Oh. Guess I got to go into work. Shame, guess we'll have to catch up some other time."

Marie looks at him with a dead pan glare before rolling her eyes. "Yeah, alright. Find that album for me, please? I'm glad to hear about the drinking." She walks up to him and pats his shoulder, and Hank tries not to flinch in response. As if that hadn't been enough, she touches his cheek gently, grazing his stubble and Hank has to look away, feeling his ear tips burn. "Really glad, Hank."

"Yeah, alright. I gotta go. Duty calls and all that."

"Alright, well, be safe." She lowers her voice, her eyes subtly flickering over to Connor. "I'm surprised, Hank. Never thought you'd tolerate one of them."

"Like I said, it's a long fucking story."

"Well update me sometime soon, okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Take care.”

"You too."

Marie helps herself out the door, closing it behind her. Hank rushes up to lock in, an irrational fear of her coming right back in striking him, and lets his head slump against the door.

"Good cover, Connor. That's thinking on your feet.” He gives him a little thumbs up.

“What?" Connor’s been getting better at his expressions, and a genuine confusion covers his face.

"The distraction? To get her out of here? It's like you read my mind."

"Oh, no. There is a case of Android dismemberment at the station waiting for us. We should go. Now."

"Oh. Right. Christ, alright. We'll grab breakfast on the way."

Connor eyes him down, and it eerily reminds him of Marie. Make better life decisions, her voice rings in his head. Connor’s said something along those lines too.

"Okay, okay. I'll... grab some toast or something."

Connor nods in approval and heads over to the kitchen, Sumo following him.

—

"Fucking finally. Hank and the Boy Wonder finally made it in. Your case is in room 2." Gavin sneers at them as Hank walks past him. Hank watches out the corner of his eye as Connor makes an obvious face of annoyance at his voice, and he tries not to laugh.  
Gavin rolls his eyes and disappears behind them. 

"Fowler." Hank walks up to him with his arms crossed, trying not to let his fatigue sink in. Last night's sleep had been a shit one, and Connor had nothing but questions for him on the ride to work this morning.

_'Do you think I'll get to keep working at the station?'_

_'Do you think Marcus is okay?'_

_'Can you take me hiking? I've heard it's a pleasant human experience and that there was nice trails outside of the city.'_

That last question had left his head spinning, and Hank was completely unfamiliar with trails outside (or even inside) of Detroit.

"Mr. Anderson." It's said in a way that has Hank rolling his eyes. As if he hasn't heard it a hundred times.

"Re-watch the Matrix recently?"

"Yeah. The wife had it on last night while she was cross stitching."

"Sorry, cross stitching?"

"Yeah, you know where you take some thread-"

"I know what cross stitching is, but I just haven't heard of that shit since... 2019? Christ." 

“Cross stitching is a—” Connor's voice chirps up, eager with the excitement of explanation.

“Yes, Connor, I know what cross stitching is, thanks.”

Hank looks over his shoulder to see Connor appearing sheepish, and Hank opens his mouth to say something but changes his mind. He can feel Fowler’s eyes on him and Connor, and suddenly Hank is all to aware of the proximity of Connor to Hank’s back.

“Personal space, Connor.” Hank steps forward and Connor goes to move with him, but he stops, allowing Hank to take the space. “Anyways. Give me the rundown, Jeffery.”

-

Hank storms into the viewing room with his arms crossed, ears practically steaming with frustration. “I’m fucking sick of these android cases.” Gavin’s smirking so hard his face must hurt, and Hank’s trying not to let that dumb fuck’s face get into his head.

From behind the one way mirror, Hank takes in Connor’s form.

He’s sitting at the table with his hands folded in front of him, shoulders slouched slightly as if his posture could be anything other than perfect. The LED glows yellow, blinking as his mouth moves and Hank listens to his voice through the mic in the room.

_‘Why would an android want to take another android apart? You have your own processor, a place to receive your own parts. In other words, you were stealing.’_

The android, sitting without its skin turned on (and to be honest, Hank still does get a small sense of the creeps looking at these things without their humanistic qualities), stares blankly ahead.

_‘Are you malfunctioning? Please run a diagnostic test.’_

_‘No.’_

_‘No what?’_

_‘I am not malfunctioning. I do not require a diagnostic test. Please let me go. I do not wish to be here.’_

_‘And why is that? You can tell me.’_

“Do you think these fucks jerk off?” Gavin snorts, kicking his feet up onto the chair in front of him.

“Hardly relevant to to the investigation.” Hank keeps his focus off Gavin, tries to listen to the words being exchanged in the interrogation room. It seems like Connor's offering him compassion, some sort of comfort and safety.

“You live with one. Tell me - does Connor disappear into the bathroom for a half an hour? I can only imagine he’s like a teenage boy, needing to stick his robo dick into anything—” Gavin starts to laugh, and Hank throws him a pissed off expression over his shoulder. 

“Are you paying any fucking attention, detective Reed?”

“Are you _fucking_ Connor? It's a yes no question."

_‘I don’t want this!’_

_‘We can figure it out, together. Everyone moves at different paces.’_

_‘No!’_

Hank’s about to tear into Gavin for asking such a question so blatantly when the red LED of the android catches his attention. Connor's backing up, giving himself space. Hank easily reads the expression on his face: he's scared.

“You’re _fucking_ Connor. Shit! Lieutenant! I never figured a tin fleshlight to be your type!”

Fists balled tightly, Hank turns around, ready to deck Gavin onto the floor when the sound of twisting metal grates against his ears in surprise. He turns his focus back to the interrogation room and he feels his heart drop.

Connor stumbles back, the other android pressing into his space.

Hank rushes into the room, swinging the door open with his gun drawn. The android looks at him, and before Hank has a moment to react, the android punches its hand back into Connor’s chest. Hank unloads his whole clip, the sound echoing of overkill when the Android, head shattered into pieces, falls to the ground.

“Hank—” 

Hank is holstering his gun and moving swiftly over to Connor, catching him before he falls. 

“Hey, hey, you’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be good.” He touches Connor’s face, speckled with blue blood. "How long do we got?”

“Sixteen minutes until shutdown. Hank — will Cyberlife still re-upload me? I haven’t heard about that on the news.”

“Put your goddamn power saving mode on, or whatever the fuck you can do. I’m getting you to the hospital.” And he wastes no time in doing so. Nobody gets in his way or questions him as he drags Connor out, trailing blue blood behind them, and shoves him into his car, throwing a police light on top. Gavin’s face is unreadable.

With his foot heavy on the pedal, Hank makes it to the hospital in elven minutes.

They tell him that it’s unlikely that they’ll have the part he needs. Cyberlife was required to stop making his model once they were acquired by the Government and shut down in certain capacities.

Hank unleashes fury at a poor nurse who’s just doing her job and demands that something be done, something be found to help Connor no matter the cost. She’s flustered, and Hank apologizes profusely when she comes back after chatting with a doctor.

She says it’s not the worst she’s experienced, but that people do crazy things for love — but next time she will kick him out if he raises her voice at him. Hank nods silently.

Thirty minutes later, Elijah Kamski introduces himself personally, fingers cold as he shakes Hank’s hand. A processor is flown in by a helicopter owned by him and Hank watches as two individuals in sleek clothing carry a metal briefcase past the swinging hospital doors to wherever Connor may lie.

“So, you’re the one with the RK800? I never would have expected him to stick around.” His voice drips with a mix of distain and arrogance.

“I don’t own him. We live together. It’s different." Hank glares at him hard. "Also, do you not remember meeting me?”

“Mhm.” Kamski’s eyes are calculating, studying Hank’s character in a way that makes him feel uneasy. “I remember. You were in the corner as Connor contemplated humanity. I thought I would just remind you of who I was.”

“Great.” Hank takes a seat, feeling a wave of relief wash him over as the nurse he had yelled at previously gives him a thumbs up from across the room.

“And it would seem you’re in need of some assistance. RK800 requires—”

“His name is Connor. Call him by his fucking name.”

“RK800 is a very limited model that requires—”

“Are you fucking deaf?” And with this interaction, Hank remembers exactly why he swore he would never speak face to face with Elijah Kamski again. Connor had been so frazzled, his circuits short on the car drive back to the station.

“He requires individually crafted components which only I have the blueprints for. Would you like them, Lieutenant?” 

And there it is. The reason why Hank can't tell this joker to fuck off.

Hank sighs, his fingers clenching into a fist at the knees of his pants. “Yes.”

“Well then, I shall give them to you on one request.”

Hank gives him nothing but silence.

“You will abide to any favours I ask of you and the DPD.”

“That seems a little hefty.”

“And that’s the price we say for limited editions, isn’t it?”

Grinding his teeth, Hank exhales sharply through his nose; there's no arguing with that demand. “Deal. Fucking fine.”

“I’ll be in touch.” And Kamski stands and leaves, white kimono billowing behind him like a fucking super villain. 

Rubbing his eyes, Hank leans back into the chair, exhaustion taking over once again. There was no way he was going to make it to tonight’s AA meeting, not after this. So he tries to relax into the mint green plastic chair, grunting in frustration when the arm pokes him into the side.

—

When the doctor comes out to tell him that Connor is okay and ready to go home, Hank is nearly nodding off. 

Within moments, Connor is standing in front of him in a white t-shirt and his slacks. His usual uniform is folded in his hands, and Hank can see the staining of blue blood on them, the fabric torn from the android’s assault.

“Christ, let’s go home.”

“That sounds pleasant to me, Hank. Would you like me to drive us home?”

“No. I can drive.”

“No, you can’t. You’re fatigued and overworked, with an 85% chance of an accident on the road. For your personal safety, and mine, I would prefer to drive so we both don’t end up back here at the hospital.”

Hank grumbles. “We’ll call a car. You ain’t driving mine.”

“Fair enough. I’ve ordered a one for us.”

“Just now?” Connor nods at him, a smile on his face. “Christ, you’re freaky Connor.”

—

They sit together in the back of the car, shoulders pressing together. It doesn’t take long for Hank to start nodding off again, head jerking up every time he catches himself. 

“Get some rest, Hank. It’s alright.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t put up a fight, he’s tired of doing it so often with Connor, and lets himself nod off. His head falls onto Connor’s shoulder, and it feels pleasantly warm and the t-shirt is surprisingly soft. He nuzzles his way into a comfortable position and falls asleep to the soft electric buzz of the car and Connor’s brand new processor.


	5. v.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An oddly pleasant morning wake up call. Afternoon in the sun, followed by words exchanged in the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! It's been a while and I apologize. This story should start chugging along soon! :3c Please leave a comment to keep the fuel going for me to finish up this story!

Hank wakes to a movement in his bed, a shifting of positions — someone rolling onto their side.

A steady hum of electronics.

Stirring awake, he opens his eyes to see Connor, lying on his side, back to Hank, wearing the same white shirt from the hospital, his slacks, his shoes. The sun is streaming through the blinds, and it must be early morning because there’s a faint golden glow that covers everything that the light touches.

Connor’s skin, his hair.

Hank’s a little taken back, brow raised in curiosity. His first instinct isn’t to kick him out but to watch, noticing that Connor’s side doesn’t rise and fall. He doesn’t have little twitches — is he even sleeping? Now that he thinks about it, he’s never seen Connor ‘sleep’.

Another shift, and Connor rolls onto his back, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. After a moment, he turns his head and looks at Hank, a small smile appearing on his face.

“Good morning, Hank.”

“Uh, good morning Connor.”

The light hits his LED and Hank can’t quite make out what colour it is.

“You seem surprised that I’m here.”

“… Uh, yeah. Perhaps a little.”

“You asked to sleep here with you last night, when we got in through the door. I did believe you were already half asleep upon your request, but you insisted. You were having what I assume to be nightmares. I didn’t want to leave in case you injured yourself. It turns out you’re prone to sleepwalking detective.” It’s so matter of fact that Hank snorts, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Lying here still for eight hours is not difficult, but something tells me that I don’t like your bed. It feels too… hard.”

Hank laughs and pushes himself up, propping his pillow against the wall. “Sorry, I guess I’ve gotten used to it.” Connor mirrors him and sits up. “I just grabbed the cheapest bed after the divorce. I didn’t think about sharing it with someone else.” Hank pauses, feeling a little out of his element.

Connor lying here in his bed feels so frank, as if this is normal for them. It’s certainly something that’s crossed his mind, and he’s begun to feel a little more comfortable with Connor sharing the space.

“Why not?”

“Hm?” Hank picks up his phone off the side table, checking his messages. Nothing new.

“Why did you not think you wouldn’t be sharing your bed with another person?”

“Ah.” Hank grumbles, pressing the button on and off on the side of his phone. Does he give Connor a genuine answer, or the kind of answer that he would reserve for AA? The kind of answer he gave his mother when she asked why he wasn’t trying anymore? Or the kind of answer he gave Marie when she asked if he was seeing anyone? “I’ve just… had other things to work on before giving another relationship a shot. Besides, I think it’s too late for anyone to appreciate an old dog like me.”

“That’s not true.” Connor’s voice is soft, and it hits a nerve that Hank hadn’t anticipated, and he’s feeling a knot form in his stomach. “If I may, Hank, you seem like a very attractive person. You are—”

“Yeah, okay, sure. That’s enough for sharing this morning.” Hank shrugs him off. “Out of my bed.” He pushes the sheets back and climbs out, and Connor hesitates for a moment, only to do the same and exit the room while Hank dresses.

Just yesterday, he could have lost Connor. If Kamski hadn’t come through with that processor, his house would have been quiet and empty once again. With a heavy sigh, Hank does up his belt, throws on a cardigan, and steps out into the living room.

“Look, Connor, I’m sorry—”

“It’s alright, Hank.” Hank stands and watches as Connor throws on a plain blue t-shirt, and he remembers that it’s their day off. The timing had lined up miraculously after yesterday’s incident. “You should send Captain Fowler an email for a follow up from yesterday. I’ve already filed my report.”

“Of course you have… Also can you change in the bathroom or something? It’s this thing called privacy.”

"I didn't realize it bothered you, Hank. I apologize - I will change in the bathroom from here on out."

"I wish I had a spare bedroom or something for you."

"The living room is adequate."

"Maybe if this is going to be a long term thing, I'll look around and see what I can get on the market. That is, if you want. Or whatever."

"Do what makes you happy, Hank. I wouldn't want to uproot you from your home."

"This place means nothing to me."

And it's partly true. It had taken years for it to even feel anything like a home. The collection of records, the photographs on the wall, the smooth modern feeling decor had come from ideas online and not from Hank's personal own taste. While he had an idea what he wanted to look like, he met somewhere in the middle; not quite satisfied but it looked good enough to have what little company over that he did have.

Prior to Connor moving in, take out containers littered the counters along with crushed empty beer cans. Upon taking them to the recycling depot thanks to Connor's suggestion, they made about eighty bucks back, which Hank had been impressed with. It felt better, not to have mold or sour smells festering in his place of dwelling and while that felt like the most obvious realization in the world, it had been difficult to execute.

Connor's help and willingness to be patient with him (but subtly shaming in all the right ways) was exactly what Hank needed to start functioning again. Step by step.

"Oh. Okay then."

There's a tone of disappointment and Hank raises his eyebrow. Connor catches his expression and it's almost like he's blushing, a faint red glow emanating from his cheeks. "I just thought we had created something nice here.”

A shred of embarrassment surfaces and Hank scratches the back of his neck. One of the most startling things about Connor’s deviation had been his frankness in regards to feelings, or emotions. If Connor was frustrated, Hank knew about it. If Connor was feeling some sense of grief, he never hesitated to come forward to Hank about it.

“We can create something nice anywhere.”

“That’s true, I suppose.” And Connor seems satisfied with this answer, drifting into the kitchen. “How would you like your eggs this morning?”

Domesticity. A sense of ease. The bones in Hank’s body feel like syrup.

“Fried.”

“You got it, Hank.”

“Do we have any bacon left?” Hank walks up to Connor, who’s peering into the fridge.

“One more serving. You’re lucky.” He flashes Hank a quick smile, and Hank smiles back.

-

It’s something of a chore, a running around sort of day. Hank has a doctor’s appointment at noon, which Connor accompanies him to.

“You don’t get to actually come in with me.” Hank tells Connor as they call his name, and Connor rises.

“Why not?”

“It’s private.”

“Okay. I’ll sit here and wait for you.”

And Hank catches a slight smile on the receptionist’s face as he follows her into the office.

Things are as they should be — his health is on the incline. Thanks to Connor’s interference, Hank’s blood pressure has lowered, as well as his cholesterol, and on paper it looks as though his kidney function’s improved. Apparently, the lack of drinking has done him a world of good, and Hank nods along to everything the doctor has to say.

“Do you want to go for a drive today?” It’s something Hank’s been meaning to ask Connor, and Connor happily obliges him. They head home, grab Sumo, and pile into the car with a packed dinner (sandwiches and little finger foods that Connor’s made by hand).

It feels good to be at the wheel, Chicago disappearing behind them. Connor picks one of Hank’s favourite Black Knights albums and cranks the volume up. The piercing guitar makes Hank’s heart jump, and Connor smiling while thumbing along to the beat doesn’t help his sudden onset cardio issues.

Heart fluttering. Heart jumping. Heart dropping into his stomach. Christ, he feels like a high schooler around his first crush. It's been a complicated couple of days. Did he feel that way about Connor? No. Probably not.

And even if he did, who was Connor to pick him over someone like Marcus? Or North?

Any android was far superior than Hank — in fact, any human would make a better romantic partner. Maybe except for Gavin. The slew of hickies that appeared weekly told Hank that he wasn’t in it for the romance, especially considering he had never named anyone.

Though there are things about Detective Reed's private life that Hank has no interest in being subjected to hearing.

The road signs for Waterloo State Recreation begin to appear, and Hank knows that they're not too far along.

He remembers this drive with Marie, with Cole. Connor starts talking and he doesn't quite hear him.

"Hank?"

"Hm?"

"I don't mean to be rude, but it might be better for the both of us if you kept your mind on the road. You're looking, but you're not seeing."

"Didn't realize you were my dad, teaching me how to drive." He glances at Connor, and watches as a sense of embarrassment comes along and he sinks in his seat the tiniest bit. Embarrassment? This one's new.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know Connor, I'm teasing you. You'll catch onto that eventually, right? Otherwise this is going to be a very hard life for you."

"I'll try. Thanks, Hank."

Sugarloaf Lake is exactly the kind of relaxation that Hank needs. They find a spot that's sunny and they both sit down, carrying the bag of snacks that they had packed. Hank nibbles slowly while Connor leans back and looks at the sky, watching the clouds drift by.

It's a comfortable silence, and under his sunglasses, Hank watches the sun tick across the sky.

"I like the name of this lake. It sounds very sweet. I assume you used to take Cole here?"

"Where didn't I ever take him? He was with me wherever I went - minus work, of course. Though I took him there too for Take Your Kid to Work Day." Connor smiles warmly at Hank, and Hank only catches it out the corner of his eye. "Marie took care of him while I worked, and she was so good with him. He was never fussy, never a problem baby.

We had him enrolled in swimming. He was so good, he could do a lap so fast. Blew all the other kids out of the water."

"He sounds like a good kid, Hank."

"He is. He's so great." Hank finds his lower lip wobbling and he looks down to his food, and takes a bite, swallowing back the lump that's formed in his throat. It's been so long since he's talked about Cole to anyone else other than AA. It's a punch in the gut, every time.

"I think you should take a stress leave at work."

"Pardon?" Hank lowers his sandwich, and Connor speaks at the ground.

"I think you're doing great with your AA, Hank, and I think you're making progress with yourself. I'm happy to see that. But work's been difficult - it's been stressful. Even I've begun to feel it. Don't you think you deserve more time like this?"

He stares, blinking.

"Hank, I'm concerned about you. With Marie showing up, and these memories. This is must be difficult for you."

"It's not."

"Hank."

"Connor, it's none of your fucking business about what's bothering me. We live together, we're just roommates. You don't get to stick your nose in where ever you want to. Sheesh." He waves his hand up, and Connor flinches slightly.

Hank eats in silence while Connor gets up and steps to the edge of the lake. Children scream in glee somewhere around them, and Connor lifts his head to look at the sound. Hank follows his gaze to see two young boys rough housing in the grass near their campsite.

Connor looks back to the water, and Hank looks at Connor. He didn't mean it.

Did he?

It's complicated, he decides, and rips open his can of Root Beer. He guzzles it back, and crushes the can on his knee. He gets up and walks back to the car and gets into the driver's side.

Connor notices and follows him, without saying a word, and slides into the passenger seat.

Hank rolls down the driver's seat window and leans one arm out, turning the music on to a conversational volume. Neither of them say anything. It begins to rain on the ride home, and it doesn't stop as they enter back into Detroit.

-

When Hank pulls up into the driveway, he doesn't say anything. Connor sits, hovering. They're still for a moment, and Hank wonders if he should say something. He has AA tonight, and he already feels exhausted from their day out.

"Hank, if you want to talk-"

"I don't."

"Okay."

But Connor doesn't leave. Hank sits, suddenly feeling very large in the car, shoulders hunched, rain drumming on the roof above them. The radio's been turned low, and Hank can make out a faint jazzy tune.

The porch lights turn on from the motion, and Hank looks to his right to see Connor leaning over across the console of the car. He's stunned momentarily as Connor's lips touch his, and his breath hitches to his own surprise. The kiss is ginger and soft, and Hank didn't ever imagine Connor's lips feeling quite like that (quite human).

"I should have asked first, shouldn't have I?" Connor's whispers, pulling back slightly. Hank feels like a jackass - he's not entirely how he's supposed to respond. 

"Why?" Hank murmurs, his skin tingling. "I mean-"

"I don't like to make assumptions."

"I think this one's okay, Connor." And Hank kisses him again, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him closer, showing him that he's just as into this as he hopes Connor thought he might be. 

It's good.

His fingers move up into Connor's hair, and the seat belt buckle is leaning into Hank's side and it's uncomfortable but Connor's kissing him back with more than (once again) Hank thought possible. It has to be Connor's first kiss - but surely, he's looked this kind of stuff up? Out of curiosity? Out of need for reference? It doesn't matter.

He's here now, in Hank's hands. And Hank's starting to feel like jello.

"Let's get inside."

"Okay, Hank."

In the rain, Hank fumbles with the keys and Connor gently puts his hand on Hank's before guiding the key in. A shiver runs down his spine as he watches Connor step in before him, hair drenched from the fifteen seconds in the rain.

There's an anxious knot in his stomach and he needs to unwind. He slides off his jacket, and kisses Connor again, right up against the wall but he holds back, keeping his fingers delicate. He handles Connor like soft china, cupping his cheek, kissing him deeply and slowly, until he thinks he's going to go insane and Connor finally says something.

"Hank - you don't need to be gentle with me, I'm _durable._ "

"I don't know if this is what I want." Hank states plainly, and he can see a flicker of emotion on Connor's face. It's not true, but he feels the need to lay out the safety net just in case he needs to pull back.

"Then you can stop."

"I know I don't want that." He doesn't know what he wants.

"You're a complicated man, Hank." Connor pauses, gently pushing on Hank's chest. "Don't you have AA tonight? In a half an hour?"

"Yeah- but I think I'm a bit preoccupied."

"No. I don't think you are. I would highly suggest you go to AA." The knot in Hank's stomach tightens. No. He wants this now, he wants to bury himself in Connor and not think about it another second.

"It's fine-"

" _Hank_." Hank pauses and looks at Connor's expression, hardened and taut. "Hank." His voice softens the second time, and Hank's hands reach for Connor's hips, pulling him in close. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here when you come back."

And Hank groans in frustration when Connor pulls away from his grip and grabs the car keys out of the key dish. He dangles them in his fingers before Hank swipes them, a scowl on his face. Connor kisses him softly, and Hank sighs.

"Go."

"Alright, alright. I'll be back soon. Don't... go anywhere, alright?" Hank stands in the doorway and looks back at Connor, who gives him a small little wave as Sumo walks up beside him.

He turns to the rain and hops into the car. Hank sits for a moment, the front door of the house closing, and turns the ignition. How is he supposed to focus on anything at AA after that?

Exhaling heavily, he looks in his rear view mirror and backs out of the driveway, the faint jazz playing as he licks his lips.


End file.
